Thicker Than Water
by Blue Butterfly 128
Summary: Stephanie McMahon is the daughter of a mob boss. Detectives Irvine and Benoit are determined to convict her family. One night she runs into their station, battered and bruised. Will she close the case for them, or further tangle this wicked web?
1. Chapter 1

**Title:** _Thicker Than Water_

**Rating:** T (for language and content)

**Summary:** Stephanie McMahon is the daughter of a mob boss and Detectives Irvine and Benoit are determined on nailing her father. So what happens when she runs into their station, battered and bruised? Will she close the case for them, or will they have to give up on convicting the McMahon family?

**Disclaimer:** I own no one and make nothing.

* * *

_An impressive, almost uncontainable, crowd had gathered since the arrests had been made. The eminent culprits, still holding their heads high with pride and arrogance, walked out of the hotel lobby and into the street with all eyes on them. News reporters had rushed to the scene when they found out that such a famous and well-respected family had been captured. Cameras were rolling, capturing their humiliating walks of shame to the police cars. _

_The daughter was last, a look mixed of anger, frustration, and sadness etched upon her flawless features. She walked with a slow grace and fluidity, allowing the gap between her and the rest of her family to grow wider and wider with each step._

_Opening the door to a police car, the blonde detective glared menacingly at the woman._

_She paused before climbing into the squad car. "You know, it wasn't supposed to happen this way," she spoke to him for the first time since the arrest, but never looking at him._

_The detective rolled his eyes with a snort. "What wasn't?" he decided to humor her by replying._

_Finally turning her head and locking eyes with the blonde, she replied, "_Everything_."_

_Hearing her response, the man stiffened. He watched her voluntarily seat herself in the backseat. He took a step back as his partner slammed the door shut and gave the trunk two hits to signal the driver to leave._

"_Everything…" the blonde man repeated._

* * *

Rain pelted the windows viciously and showed no signs of retreat. After pounding the glass in vain, each drop slid almost gallantly down the pane. The dark sky in the background merely watched in amusement, occasionally throwing down a flash of lightning to encourage the troop of raindrops. 

"Are you listening?"

Chris Irvine tore his gaze away from the battle between the clear barricade and the falling water droplets. "What? Sorry."

His partner, Chris Benoit sighed. "These were taken a couple of days ago, and it's only of the kids," Benoit growled. Irvine picked up a yellow folder labeled "The McMahon Family" and flipped it open. On top of all the photographs within the folder were two glossy pictures, each with a yellow Post-It attached.

Irvine picked up the first one. The sticky read "Shane 'The Money' McMahon." The photo captured only the man's bicep and up. He had short brown locks and looked innocent, almost boyish, but both Irvine and Benoit knew the man was anything but. He wore his signature black button-down shirt with a pair of designer sunglasses to cover his eyes.

The other photograph of his younger sister was labeled "Stephanie 'Princess' McMahon." It captured the image of a beautiful young woman with brown hair matching the young man's, but it flowed down to the middle of her back. She wore a white low-cut blouse with, as usual, some sort of expensive piece of jewelry adorning her neck; in this scene, it was a diamond choker.

"They haven't done anything for three fucking weeks! They've gone to a bunch of charity events and galas, but nothing illegal!" Benoit exclaimed angrily.

"These were from when they met Levesque, right?" Irvine spoke.

"Yeah. They went and had lunch at some snooty restaurant that neither of us could ever afford. Why can't we just arrest them?" Benoit groaned in frustration.

"We don't have enough evidence to actually link them to everything that we know they did," Irvine reminded him. "Besides, Captain said that we need to be two-hundred percent sure that they were responsible. Meaning we need more evidence other than us saying that they did it. He doesn't want us embarrassing the squad and ruining ties to their family if we're wrong."

"Oh yeah. Damned sufficient evidence and probable cause shit," Benoit sighed, cursing the necessary materials required for an indictment. "If only someone could walk through that door and tell us everything we need to know," Benoit thought aloud wistfully, staring at the clear double-doors to the front of the police station.

Irvine let out an amused snort. "If only our jobs were so easy."

Benoit released a dreamy sigh. "If only. My wife would be ecstatic if I actually came home for dinner on time. And my kids would love it if I could tuck them in and read them a bedtime story. It'd be heaven."

Irvine watched his partner, his gaze slightly clouded with envy. "If only I had a wife and kids to go home to."

"She's out there," Benoit assured his partner.

Irvine rolled his eyes in doubt. "A lot of good that does me. I'm in here."

Benoit shook his head. "You need to have more faith in destiny."

"Destiny," Irvine snorted.

"SOMEONE, PLEASE HELP ME!" a woman cried out as she burst through the front doors of the police station.

Irvine and Benoit's heads instantly turned to face the drenched woman. She was wearing a red blouse with a black skirt and heels, one of which was broken. Her hair was matted down to her face from the rain she had apparently been running in. Even with the tears streaming down her face, the swelling black eye, and bleeding lip, they immediately recognized her as the notorious Stephanie McMahon.

The two jumped up and ran over to the beaten mafia princess. Gingerly helping her up, Irvine shouted for someone to get him a couple towels while another officer rushed to get her a hot drink. After drying her off a bit and wrapping her in the towels in a feeble attempt to warm the chilled woman, the partners simply stared at her, waiting for her to finally speak.

Holding the warm mug in her hands, Stephanie timorously looked up from the steaming liquid to the two sets of eyes on her. "You won't let the press find out about this will you?" she questioned, looking pleadingly at the two men in front of her.

"Give us a good reason not to," Benoit growled.

Irvine hurriedly pulled his partner away from the distressed woman and whispered, "Calm down! She isn't some common criminal."

"You're right," Benoit agreed. "She's worse. She's the daughter of a mob boss."

Irvine sighed. "And that same mob boss is one of the most influential men in the state and owns one of the most powerful companies in the country!" he hissed.

"He won't be so powerful and influential once we get the evidence we need to connect him to all his dirty little deeds," Benoit vowed.

"We'll get to that later. Right now we have a victim who needs our help," Irvine reminded his partner.

With an obviously displeased sigh, Benoit reluctantly agreed to be civil toward the battered woman. "Fine."

"Just be nice," Irvine reprimanded his friend as they walked back towards the sniffling woman.

Stephanie looked up as the duo returned to her, eyes filled with worry and regret.

Irvine bent down to one knee in front of her. "I'm Detective Chris Irvine, and this is my partner, Detective Chris Benoit. Are you alright? You like you might need to go to the hospital."

She shook her head adamantly. "I'm fine. I'll just have a few bruises."

"At least let me clean your lip up for you," Irvine suggested as Benoit stood behind the two with his arms crossed and a stern look on his face.

Seeing the expression on Benoit's face, she nodded warily in acceptance.

"I'll be right back," Irvine said as he stood up and walked away from Stephanie, pulling Benoit with him. As he passed their desks, Irvine pushed Benoit into one of their chairs. "Stay," he ordered as he made his way to the bathroom.

Benoit rolled his eyes as he returned his intimidating gaze onto their shivering victim, who was at the moment staring into her steaming cup of black coffee. The frustrated detective wanted nothing more than to throw the damp brunette into an interrogation room and grill her until she connected all the dots for them. But of course, then that would make his job too easy, and things simply never worked out that way for him.

He watched Stephanie as she raised the cup to her lips, gently blowing at the steam still rising from the drink. Slowly, she took a small sip of the hot chocolate. Her eye was still swelling and the ugly purple color was becoming more prominent against her perfectly tan skin.

Suddenly, Irvine rushed past him and landed in front of Stephanie, again kneeling to meet her eyes. Taking the wet paper towel, he pressed it lightly to her lower lip to clean off the cut that had clotted for the most part. He then opened the first aid kit and ripped open a cleansing wipe to clean off the other cuts on her face. She flinched and pulled away at the stinging sensation from a particularly bad cut on her right cheek.

"Sorry," Irvine muttered, as he slowly neared the small square of cloth back to the deep nick. After cleaning off her face, Irvine pulled out a tube of Neosporin from the kit and began applying a dab on each of her cuts. He then ripped open a band-aid rapper and placed it over her worst cut. "I brought you some ice to stop the swelling," he told her, offering her a bag of ice.

"Thanks," she replied meekly while gingerly raising it to her left eye.

After a second, Irvine suggested again, "How about you let me take you to the hospital personally?"

Removing the bag, she again adamantly shook her head. "Really, I'm fine. It's not as bad as it looks."

"You don't know _how_ bad it looks," Irvine retorted.

She continued to shake her head, though now with less force. "I can take care of myself."

"Of course you can!" he threw back, sarcasm evident in his voice. "This looks like you take very good care of yourself." After Stephanie shot him a quick glare, he spoke up again. "I'm going to go get my notepad and we'll start writing up your report, alright?"

"Report?" she repeated.

"Yeah," he answered slowly, stretching out the word. "You know, one of those things where you tell me every detail about what happened and then the police use it to find whoever did it to you?"

"You don't need to write a report. I was just mugged. Not a big deal," Stephanie insisted.

Irvine scoffed, "Actually it is a big deal. We can't have a person running around attacking and thieving innocent people."

"I don't want to file a report," Stephanie said firmly. "I knew I shouldn't have come here."

"Well this is how the legal system works, Miss McMahon," Irvine replied cheekily.

Stephanie sighed and set her cup down on the seat next to her.

Irvine took that as a sign of approval and turned, walking to his desk to pick up his pen, notepad, and partner. "Let's get started on this report," Irvine announced, digging around his desk for a working pen and blank notepad.

"I don't trust her," Benoit grumbled, finally tearing his eyes away from the heiress.

"Doesn't matter," Irvine reminded him, still fumbling with various papers and folders. "She's a victim and we have to follow procedure."

"We're detectives. Not babysitters. Let someone else write up the report," Benoit urged his partner as he glanced back at the so-called victim, who was now folding the towels which were wrapped around her moments earlier.

"Stop complaining," Irvine muttered, not paying too much attention to the grumbling man at his side. "Don't look at it as babysitting. We are profiling a dangerous criminal mastermind who may be out there committing another mugging," Irvine dramatized, still searching his desk.

"First of all, _we_ never look into muggings. Second, he would have to be insane not a mastermind to mug the princess of New York's royal mafia. Third, if you honestly believe that she was mugged, you're dumber than I thought," Benoit rattled on.

With a sigh, Irvine faced his partner. "First, this is no _ordinary_ mugging. Second, it would be brilliant to rob a member of the mafia because they wouldn't want to involve the police. Third, I don't believe that she was mugged. This at least gives us a chance to talk to her and poke holes in her story. Then we can tell her that we know she wasn't mugged."

Benoit shrugged. "But if the mafia doesn't want to get involved, why would _she_ of all people come here?"

Crossing his arms, Irvine started, "When she gets hurt or threatened or even angry, who would she logically go to first?"

"Her father?" Benoit guessed.

"Exactly. Now, if she were scared of, or even angry with daddy dearest, she's not going to go running to him. She'd go to someone she knows can hurt him," Irvine explained.

"Then why doesn't she just come out and tell us what he did?" Benoit asked.

"She has to at least pretend that she tried to protect him," Irvine rolled his eyes.

Benoit nodded. Picking up a clean notepad and blue ballpoint pen from his own neatly organized desk, he said, "Let's file this report."

Irvine made a face at the speed with which Benoit had grabbed the materials for which he had been searching. "Right," he grumbled.

As the two turned to make their way to the bruised woman, they found her chair without her in it. Instead, the towels were neatly folded and stacked on her seat and her drink, no longer steaming, in the next seat. She had apparently taken the ice bag with her.

"Damn!" Benoit growled, throwing down the two items in his hands. "Did you see where she went?" Benoit asked a passing detective.

"Yeah, she walked out of here like twenty seconds ago," the blonde replied, turning and returning her attention on her destination.

"Shit," Benoit swore quietly. "I can't believe we had her then fucking lost her! How the hell did we miss her just prancing out of here?"

Irvine sighed. "I don't know. But we're going to find her and file this report!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Title:** _Thicker Than Water_

**Rating:** T (for language and content)

**Summary:** Stephanie McMahon is the daughter of a mob boss and Detectives Irvine and Benoit are determined on nailing her father. So what happens when she runs into their station, battered and bruised? Will she close the case for them, or will they have to give up on convicting the McMahon family?

**Disclaimer:** I own no one and make nothing.

* * *

"_Shit," Benoit swore quietly. "I can't believe we had her then fucking lost her! How the hell did we miss her just prancing out of here?"_

_Irvine sighed. "I don't know. But we're going to find her and file this report!"_

_

* * *

_

"Where have you been?" the voice growled.

Stephanie didn't have to turn on the light to see who it was. Tossing her keys onto the side table then flipping on the light switch, she answered, "Nowhere."

Shane McMahon stood up and in a few quick strides was in front of his sister.

Stephanie's gaze never faltered. "I hope you're happy."

Rolling his eyes, Shane sighed and pulled his sister to the couch he had just been sitting on. "Doesn't matter if I'm the one who's happy, remember? Now, where have you been?"

"I've had a long day. Why don't you leave so I can go shower?" Stephanie suggested, leaning back into the cushions.

"I'm not going to ask you again. Where were you?" Shane asked in a low voice.

"I'm surprised you didn't just follow me from the hotel," Stephanie mused, closing her eyes.

"Stephanie," he warned. "He knows that you didn't come here right after you left."

Her eyes flew open at Shane's statement and she sat straight up. She looked pleadingly into her brother's eyes. "Don't tell him."

"He already knows," Shane repeated. "He watched your taxi and you turned right instead of going straight."

"The driver took the long way. You know how taxi drivers are. They always think that you want to go the scenic route," Stephanie offered lamely.

"Stephanie," he said quietly, turning his eyes away from his sibling and down to stare at the bare coffee table in front of them.

"Please, Shane," she nearly begged her older brother. The seconds passed slowly as Stephanie waited for a response from Shane.

"Dumb ass taxi driver," he muttered as he stood up.

Relief washed over Stephanie's face, but a smile never appeared. "Thanks," she whispered.

Shane said nothing as he walked out of his baby sister's apartment.

* * *

Wrapping the fluffy towel around her wet body, Stephanie gracefully made her way to the door. Looking though the peephole, she rolled her eyes at her unexpected guests. After unlocking the door, but refusing to unhook the chain, she asked, "May I help you?"

"Miss McMahon, I'm Detective Irvine and-"

"I just saw you two a few hours ago," she reminded the blonde detective.

"Right." Irvine cleared his throat. "We understand that you do not want to press charges, but that does not give you the right to run out of our station. We still need to file the report against your attacker. He committed a crime and needs to be prosecuted in criminal court," Irvine explained.

Throwing her dripping hair over her shoulder, she replied, "Then go ahead and file it without me. Have a nice day gentlemen." With that she closed the door and made her way back to her bathroom to finish her interrupted shower.

Irvine grabbed Benoit's fist as he raised it to pound against the door. "We need to approach this in a different way."

"I am using a different way: force!" Benoit snapped.

"Calm down," Irvine coaxed his partner, slowly leading him toward the elevator. "I have an idea."

"And what's that?" Benoit asked, already convinced that breaking down her door would be better than whatever Irvine could think up.

"We arrest her."

* * *

Stephanie posed and smiled brightly as flash bulbs went off in front of her. After missing for a week from various parties and events, she had finally returned to the public eye, much to the delight of the photographers in front of her. Fortunately for her, a week was all it took for the swelling and most of the cuts and discoloration to disappear. With the miracles of makeup, any leftover marks from her attack had been concealed.

As soon as she stepped inside the building and out of range of the cameras, she decided to make her way over to a small group of acquaintances before going into the main room. They were mostly other heirs and heiresses. After a few minutes of small talk, the group began heading toward the show room, where they would be seated for dinner. However, before she could make her way through the double doors, she was intercepted by her two favorite detectives.

"Miss McMahon, may we have a moment?" Irvine asked, stepping in front of her.

Seeing the looks she was receiving, she agreed. After allowing the two men to lead her off to the side for a bit of privacy, Stephanie demanded, "What do you think you two are doing?"

"I don't know if you remember us. I'm Detective Irvine-"

"I know who you two are!" she snapped.

"We have two options for you," Benoit practically growled, his patience having been stretched thin from waiting for Stephanie to finally make a public appearance. "You can either promise to come down to the station tomorrow morning at ten-thirty to file the report on your mugging, or we can arrest you know and drag you back down that red carpet in front of everyone to our squad car."

Obviously seething with anger at the threat, she grudgingly agreed. "Fine, but make it one. I have a brunch scheduled with my parents at eleven."

"One," Irvine agreed.

"But if you miss our appointment, we will follow through with our… promise at a later event," Benoit added cryptically.

Ripping her arm from the two men's grasps, she stalked, albeit gracefully, through the double doors to join her friends.

* * *

"I'm looking for Detectives Irvine and Benoit," Stephanie announced to a uniform passing by her.

"If you'd like to take a seat, I can go and get them for you," he offered.

"Thank you," she accepted, sitting down on the bench.

"I'll be right back," he returned with a quick wink.

After waiting through the longest twenty seconds of her life, Stephanie saw Starsky and Hutch making their way towards her. Standing to meet them, she gave them an obviously forced smile.

"Good afternoon, Miss McMahon," Irvine greeted.

"I don't have all day. Let's move this along, shall we?" Stephanie returned.

"Of course," Irvine replied through gritted teeth, quickly tiring of the mafia princess' holier-than-thou attitude that he had been putting up with for their last few encounters. The two men led her to a conference room rather than throw her in an interrogation room and scare her a bit, which Benoit had originally suggested. Irvine would have agreed had their captain not been listening and giving him the you-better-not-if-you-want-to-keep-your-job look.

"How long will this take?" Stephanie asked as she walked through the door that Benoit was holding open. Irvine grabbed a hold of the door a second before Benoit tried to slam it shut into Stephanie.

Giving his fair-haired partner quick roll of the eyes, Benoit followed the woman into the small room and took a seat opposite the stiff-backed Stephanie. "Depends on how cooperative you are."

"Now, tell us what happened with as much detail as possible," Irvine instructed her.

Stephanie sighed. "I'd gone to dinner that evening with my fiancé. We got into an argument and I left. Since he had picked me up, I didn't have a way to get home. I called a car service and they sent a car to pick me up. While I was waiting, a man came up behind me and pulled me into an alley and tried to steal my purse. When I wouldn't give it up, he started hitting me. I fought back and ran away into here," she concluded.

Benoit had been writing down the story while Chris had been taking a few notes.

"Why didn't you just hail a cab? I'm sure that would have been much quicker than waiting for a car," Irvine pointed out, pacing behind his seated partner.

"I don't take taxis," Stephanie answered, eyes following the blonde.

"Of course," Benoit murmured under his breath. "Why didn't you report anything missing and request replacements for anything in your purse?"

"There was nothing in it _to_ replace," she shrugged, focusing her gaze now on the detective in front of her.

"Nothing?" Benoit questioned. "No phone, no credit cards, no license?"

"It was just an evening clutch. Since I wasn't driving or planning to pay, I just took some cash. My phone was in my coat pocket so he didn't take that," Stephanie explained.

"Your fiancé didn't come running after you when you walked out of the restaurant?" Benoit asked.

"Aren't you supposed to be asking me if I got a good look at my attacker since you two are so insistent upon catching him?" Stephanie retorted, cocking an eyebrow.

"We're just trying to understand the situation, Miss McMahon," Irvine said, locking eyes with the woman.

"Whatever my fiancé and I were arguing about really does not concern you two, nor should it concern this investigation," she said, refusing to answer their question.

"Why are you protecting him?" Irvine queried as he stopped to look at her, throwing a curve ball at the heiress.

"Excuse me?" she replied, hiding her shock at the question with a nonchalant façade.

"Why are you protecting him?" Irvine repeated slowly, placing his hands atop the table and leaning in towards Stephanie.

"I'm not protecting anybody," she insisted after a brief pause, letting her posture go as she leaned back into the back of the uncomfortable chair, the air of confidence around her unfaltering.

Benoit's eyes narrowed as he focused on the supposed victim in front of him. "You know your attacker. It's obvious."

"How so?" she prodded.

"Let's see, you ran out of our station once you found out we wanted you to file a report. You don't want to catch your attacker. And of course your story is less than credible," Benoit listed.

"How would you know my story isn't true?" Stephanie challenged.

Benoit nearly laughed. "Would you like to wait here while we go and poke holes in it?"

"I actually have a manicure at two-thirty," she informed her interrogators.

"You may have to reschedule," Irvine suggested, leaning against the back wall.

"I'll tell you what, you two go ahead and try to find gaps in my story, and I am going to leave," Stephanie announced, as she stood up, smoothing out her skirt.

"It doesn't work that way. You don't leave until this report is filed," Benoit stopped her at the door.

"Then can you please ask me some relevant questions?" Stephanie requested, standing her ground.

"They were relevant questions," Irvine defended. "Please, just sit back down so we can finish this. Then all of us can go back to whatever we need to do."

With an exaggerated sigh, Stephanie went back to her seat as did Benoit. "Manicure at three," she reminded them.

* * *

After possibly the most tiring hour of their lives, Benoit and Irvine bid the only McMahon daughter farewell. "Bitch," Benoit called after her once she was out of ear shot.

The two spent the next day talking to the various people Stephanie had been with and those who may have seen her before she was allegedly attacked. Though to the two detectives it didn't make sense, everyone's story matched up. Stephanie had gone to dinner with her fiancé Dave Batista almost immediately after she had arrived home from work. Batista's driver accounted to the fact that he had driven his boss and Stephanie to the restaurant that night then left until Batista called for him to pick them up. The manager at the restaurant had gotten the host and waiter who had seated and served the couple, both contesting to the fact that the duo had dined there on the evening in question. The waiter even remember what they had ordered, but claimed that he had paid cash… after finishing the meal alone. Unfortunately for the detectives, everything had been recorded in the restaurant's accounting books a few days earlier so the receipts had been thrown away. However, the manager did show them the recording of the meal.

When the detectives had gone to speak to Mr. Batista about that evening, he was very tight-lipped about the whole thing, and refused to speak of their argument, much in the same manner that Stephanie had been.

"It's too perfect. Everyone remembers everything and everything lines up," Irvine thought aloud as he merely sat in the driver's seat after they had finished talking to Batista.

"Hell, I can't even remember what I had for lunch yesterday. How the fuck do they remember what someone else ordered for dinner over a week ago?" Benoit agreed.

Irvine shook his head. "Because they don't remember. How much you want to bet that Princess went and told Daddy about us and he pulled a few strings?"

"Probably paid them in cash so there's no trail," Benoit noted.

"Fuck," Irvine let out. "There goes our only shot at getting her back at the station."

"We'll get her," Benoit promised. "And then we'll nail the rest of her family."

Without replying, Irvine started the car and began heading back toward the police station.

* * *

"Maybe we could tell her that we need to do a follow up or something. You know, see if the mugger's following her or something," Benoit suggested. "Or tell her that we found the guy and she needs to pick him out of a lineup. We can have him pretend as if he did mug her and see what she does."

"She'll either send him to jail without a worry in the world, or she'll say she doesn't recognize him, like she did in her report," Irvine responded flatly, staring blankly at his desk. They had her. She was in their station and they filed a fake mugging. They let her walk out. They let her walk back to her family! Irvine slammed his fist on his desk at the thought of just letting her slip through their fingers. "We fucking had her," he muttered.

"I know, man," Benoit sighed, his gaze resting on the man sitting at the desk in front of his own. "So the way I see it, we got two options with this case. One, we keep looking into her mugging until we find a slip up. Or two, we keep looking for other evidence on their family."

After a moment of fiddling with a stray paperclip, Irvine looked up. "That mugging's the only slip up they've made so far. We have to use it," Irvine decided with a newfound determination. "Alright, we go back to the restaurant and ask for names and addresses of the people who were there eating around them that night. Batista may claim to have paid cash, but most normal people use their card at a place as fancy as that. McMahon couldn't have bought off all those people and let them know that he had something to cover up."

Benoit nodded. "So are we taking your car or mine?"

* * *

"As I told you Detective, you have to have a court order to obtain a list of our diners from that evening," the manager insisted, never backing down on his request for a judge's signature.

The two detectives knew that this was true, but had hoped that a few flashes of their badges would have granted them access to the high-priced restaurant's financial records. They also knew that no judge would grant them a subpoena for the books based on their instinct that Stephanie McMahon had not been mugged as reported.

"Mr. Regal, we understand, but it's an urgent matter," Irvine attempted to explain as Benoit answered his cell phone."

"Detective," the manager said forcefully, "you and your partner can either leave and bring us a court order, or leave and stop bothering us. The choice is yours."

"So you're willing to put the safety of your diners on the line by allowing this mugger to roam free when all you'd have to do is-" Chris began ranting dramatically.

"Chris," Benoit interrupted his blonde partner, "we got to go."

"Why?" Irvine asked, surprise and disappointment covering his face as he turned to the shorter man. "I think that I'm starting to get to him," Irvine whispered. "Give me another minute and I'm sure he'll break!"

Benoit looked at him with an un-amused look on his face. "Thanks for your time folks, but we got to get going," Benoit announced, giving a curt smile to the manager. "Captain says we got a new case to focus on," he informed his partner.

"What kind?" Irvine asked as he waved goodbye to the piqued restaurant staff while the two made their way out of the building and to the car.

"A homicide."


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** _Thicker Than Water_

**Rating:** T (for language and content)

**Summary:** Stephanie McMahon is the daughter of a mob boss and Detectives Irvine and Benoit are determined on nailing her father. So what happens when she runs into their station, battered and bruised? Will she close the case for them, or will they have to give up on convicting the McMahon family?

**Disclaimer:** I own no one and make nothing.

* * *

_Benoit looked at him with an un-amused look on his face. "Thanks for your time folks, but we got to get going," Benoit announced, giving a curt smile to the manager. "Captain says we got a new case to focus on," he informed his partner._

"_What kind?" Irvine asked as he waved goodbye to the piqued restaurant staff while the two made their way out of the building and to the car._

"_A homicide."_

_

* * *

_

"So who was he, Doc?" Irvine asked with his eyes focused in front of him on the bloated man lying on the medical examiner's table.

Medical Examiner Trish Stratus joined the blonde detective in looking down at the man. "His name's Kurt Angle," she answered, moving to a smaller table upon which rested the deceased man's wallet, a Titan I.D. card, and a few other personal effects. "Based on the temperature of the corpse when he was found and the rain, his time of death was between eight-thirty and nine last night. I understand that he was found in a dumpster at an empty warehouse this morning, tied up at the wrists and ankles. From the contusion on the back of his head, I'd have to say that he was knocked out with some sort of blunt, but heavy object."

"Like what?" Benoit questioned.

Trish shook her head. "I can't say for sure, but my best guess would be a baseball bat – a wood one. There were a couple splinters in the back of his skull. Then his attacker must have tied him up. If you look at the angle of the rope burns on his wrists, they move in a downward and outward direction, so he must have been hanging from the ceiling or something. He died from internal bleeding so it's safe to assume that he was beaten to death with said baseball bat. And there's one more thing."

"Do we even want to know?" Benoit asked at the tone of her voice.

"He was sodomized before he died," Trish answered. "For all I know it could have been by another person or with a smooth object, but I do know that it hurt. There's tearing and dried blood in his anal cavity, which leads me to believe that he was tortured."

"Couldn't it have been rough sex? Maybe his door swings the other way," Benoit suggested.

"I doubt it. There were no fluids from a person, condom, or any form of lubrication."

Irvine grimaced. "A violated human piñata…"

* * *

"You think it's just a coincidence that Mr. Angle worked at Daddy Mac's company?" Benoit couldn't help but point out. 

"Nothing's ever a coincidence with that family…" Irvine replied as the two stepped into the corporate building. Heading over to the receptionist's desk, Irvine greeted her, "Hi. I'm Detective Irvine, and this is my partner, Detective Benoit." He flashed the badge. "We need to speak with the person in charge here."

The young receptionist gaped at the two law enforcement officers. "I… I can send you to… umm… well is there someone you want to speak with specifically?" she stammered

"How about Mr. McMahon?" Benoit suggested.

"Or Mr. Kurt Angle's manager?" Irvine gave her another option.

"Mr. McMahon doesn't allow… umm… he doesn't take unscheduled appointments," she explained. "So… umm… I'll just look up Mr. Angle's department and manager."

"That'll work," Benoit gave in, disappointment obvious.

"He worked on the fifth floor under Mr. Eric Bischoff," she informed them after a moment of typing on her computer. "I'll… umm… I'll call to let him know that you're here to see him."

"Thank you," Irvine winked at her as he and Benoit headed toward the elevator, causing the flustered woman to blush. "She was kind of cute. Maybe I should ask her out," Irvine pondered.

After pushing the button to call the elevator, Benoit stared at Irvine. "Yeah… umm… that would… umm… be a really… umm… _bad_ idea," Benoit laughed.

The two stepped into the elevator and Irvine pushed the button for the fifth floor. "I'm sure she was just nervous about talking to the cops."

Benoit nearly snorted.

"So I'll take her to a movie then stuff her face with food. We don't have to really talk as long as I get an invite in at the end of the night," Irvine shrugged.

"Come on, not even _you_ could be _that_ desperate," Benoit made a face.

"You'd be surprised what three months of celibacy does to a man," Irvine commented as they reached their floor. Once they stepped out, a middle-aged man with alarmingly white hair rushed over to them.

"You must be the detectives," the man guessed as he led them through the maze of cubicles to his own spacious corner office.

"Detectives Irvine and Benoit," Irvine introduced. "And you must be Mr. Bischoff."

"Correct," he replied, closing the door to his office. "So, what exactly is this all about? The receptionist downstairs said something about Kurt Angle."

"Yes, well, Mr. Bischoff," Irvine started.

"Please, call me Eric," Bischoff insisted as he sat in obviously expensive Italian leather chair and gestured to the empty chairs in front of his desk.

The two detectives allowed themselves to sit. "Alright, well… Eric, Mr. Angle's body was discovered yesterday morning in a dumpster at an abandoned warehouse by a few kids who thought that they'd play hooky and hang out at said warehouse," Irvine explained.

Bischoff's jaw dropped in shock. "I can't believe this," he whispered.

"How well did you know Mr. Angle?" Benoit questioned, pulling out a small notepad and pen.

"Well, I'm not sure how long he's been at this company, but he's been working for my department since last year," Bischoff answered, his hands resting atop his desk. "He was promoted to my department, and he probably would have seen another promotion either by the end of this year or by the beginning of next year."

"Have you ever had any problems in the office with Mr. Angle?" Benoit continued.

Bischoff shook his head. "No. Never. He was always so focused and diligent in his work."

"Can you think of anyone who might hold a grudge against him?" Benoit prodded.

Bischoff let out a long sigh. "Uh… No. Everyone liked him here. He had a lot of friends."

"Do you know if he was seeing anybody? Maybe they were having problems?" Benoit asked.

Continuing to shake his head, Bischoff explained, "As outgoing as Kurt was, he kept his family and personal life out of the office, which was something I really appreciated in him."

"Do you know anyone who would know an answer to that question?" Benoit fished for anything to keep their trail going.

Drumming his fingers against the desk for a quick couple seconds, Bischoff found an answer. "Yeah. Two guys actually: Adam Copeland and Jason Reso. The three of them were really close; always together around the office and I'm sure out of it too."

"Are they here right now?" Irvine quickly inquired, sitting up at the possibility of immediately furthering their investigation.

"Yeah," Bischoff said, standing up and walking over to the door. "I'll go get them for you," he offered as he disappeared out of the office to retrieve the two friends of the victim.

"Hopefully this will turn out better than the last case," Benoit scoffed, referring to the McMahon case.

"I think at this point, anything we do will turn out better than the last case," Irvine laughed bitterly.

Benoit nodded in agreement. Suddenly, he became the minority in the room as two other blond men entered the office. "Hi," Benoit greeted awkwardly as he stood up to greet the two men.

With a small wave, the taller of the two introduced them, "I'm Adam Copeland and this is Jay Reso."

"Detectives Chris Irvine and Chris Benoit," Irvine replied also standing up and offering them the two newly vacated seats.

They declined. "So, what's the 'important matter' Mr. Bischoff said you wanted to see us about?" Jay asked bluntly.

The partners looked at each other, silently warring over who should explain. Irvine lost. "Kurt Angle was found dead yesterday morning."

Jay's and Adam's faces dropped. "Do you know who did it?" Adam spoke.

"That's actually why we're here. Do you know of anyone who held a grudge against Mr. Angle and would want to hurt him?" Benoit pressed gently.

The two shook their heads. "He was an awesome guy – smart, hard-worker, funny, polite. There's no reason anyone would want to hurt him," Jay praised his late friend.

"We called Mr. Angle's parents in Philadelphia and they told us that Mr. Angle was single," Benoit explained. "Maybe he just hadn't told his parents about a relationship? He was ashamed about his lifestyle and didn't want his parents to know," Benoit suggested.

Adam shook his head. "If you're hinting at Kurt being gay, you're wrong. He was one-hundred percent straight."

"And how can you be so sure? Maybe he kept it even from you two," Irvine shrugged.

Adam and Jay sent each other a look, much like the one Irvine and Benoit had shared when deciding who would break the news of Kurt's death.

Jay sighed in frustration as Adam took a breath, obviously getting ready to tell the detectives something.

"Don't," Jay stopped him.

Adam sent him an apologetic look. "I have to. It could help them."

"You're totally turning your back on him. You promised him you wouldn't tell!" Jay raised his voice.

"I think that promise is null and void since he's _dead_," Adam shot back. "You don't want them to catch whoever killed him?"

"Of course I do, but what you're going to tell them…" Jay trailed off.

"Is going to help them," Adam finished.

"It's dangerous," Jay corrected.

"It's the right thing to do," Adam retorted.

Throwing his hands in the air, Jay turned so his back faced the other three occupants of the room. "Whatever. Go ahead."

Adam looked from the detectives to the carpet back to the detectives. "Kurt was in a relationship. With a woman," Adam added after a moment. "An engaged woman. They were together for a little over a year now, and he fell hard for her. He said that they were really in love. We asked him why she wouldn't just break off her engagement for him if they were so wrapped, and Kurt told us that too much was riding on her marriage. It was supposed to be this big merger. Besides, he always thought that she was too good for him anyways so he never asked her to commit exclusively to him. He was this working class guy and she was this high profile socialite. And on top of that, she was freaked out by what her dad would do if he ever found out about them. Her dad's got major connections and he could do some serious damage."

The two detectives listened with rapt attention, slowly connecting the dots, but they had to ask. "What's her name?" they both asked, almost breathlessly.

Adam looked at them, silently pleading with them not to make him say the name when they knew perfectly well who she was. Accepting defeat, he answered, "Stephanie McMahon."

* * *

"So Angle and the Princess met one day when she was visiting Daddy Mac at work and she ran into Mr. Nice Guy. They went out for drinks and the rest is illicit history," Irvine explained to Captain Jim Ross. 

"Is there any evidence to back up the relationship?" Captain Ross asked, speaking for the first time since his two best detectives had burst in the door and not stopped talking.

Benoit nodded. "We pulled their phone records. They talked to each other on a daily basis."

"And his friends told us about the shady motel they'd go to together," Irvine added on. "We talked to the front desk and he remembers seeing them at least once a week. They always asked for the same room, which only had one bed, and she paid in cash."

"And get this, the last time they saw Angle," Benoit paused for dramatic effect, "was when they left him at his apartment a few minutes before he was supposed to leave and meet her for dinner."

Captain Ross pressed his thumb and middle finger to the bridge of his nose. "So let me guess. You two think that the McMahon family is involved in his murder." He opened his eyes to see both men nodding their heads vigorously. He sighed. "What's the motive? If Stephanie McMahon was as in love with our victim as his buddies make it out to be, why would she kill him?"

"Maybe it wasn't her," Irvine pointed out. "It could've been anyone from her family who ordered a hit."

"But again, _why_?" Captain Ross reiterated.

Benoit shrugged. "We haven't quite gotten that far. But we'll find out!" he quickly added.

"You better," Captain Ross replied ominously. "I will not have you making a fool out of me and this squad."

"So we can look into the McMahon clan?" Irvine asked hopefully.

"Against my better judgment, yes," Captain Ross approved.

After a quick, and highly immature, high-five, the two detectives ran out of the office excitedly.

Captain Ross yelled after them, "Don't make me regret this!"


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** _Thicker Than Water_

**Rating:** T (for language and content)

**Summary:** Stephanie McMahon is the daughter of a mob boss and Detectives Irvine and Benoit are determined on nailing her father. So what happens when she runs into their station, battered and bruised? Will she close the case for them, or will they have to give up on convicting the McMahon family?

**Disclaimer:** I own no one and make nothing.

* * *

"_What's the motive? If Stephanie McMahon was as in love with our victim as his buddies make it out to be, why would she kill him?"_

"_Maybe it wasn't her," Irvine pointed out. "It could've been anyone from her family who ordered a hit."_

"_But again, why?" Captain Ross reiterated._

_Benoit shrugged. "We haven't quite gotten that far. But we'll find out!" he quickly added._

"_You better," Captain Ross replied ominously. "I will not have you making a fool out of me and this squad."_

"_So we can look into the McMahon clan?" Irvine asked hopefully._

"_Against my better judgment, yes," Captain Ross approved._

_After a quick, and highly immature, high-five, the two detectives ran out of the office excitedly._

_Captain Ross yelled after them, "Don't make me regret this!"

* * *

_

After tilting his head back and taking a big gulp of his beer, Irvine sighed. "I can't believe this."

Benoit shook his head. "Me either, man. A year ago we were sneaking around, following them everywhere, digging through their trash," he snorted at this, "and now we have a real chance to nail them!"

"Unless this leads nowhere and we end up following them and digging through their trash again," Irvine remarked in an attempt to contain his emotions. "We can't let this get our hopes up too high in case this doesn't pan out the way we want it to."

"You're right," Benoit admitted. "But it doesn't mean we can't bask in glory, even if it is just for tonight."

Irvine nodded. "You should get going," he announced, setting his bottle down and staring idly at it.

"And just leave you here after we made this huge discovery?" Benoit asked, wondering what was wrong with his partner.

After a moment, Irvine looked up to meet Benoit's gaze. "Go home to your wife. Go home to your kids! I'm sure they miss seeing your ugly mug," he finished softly.

Benoit stared thoughtfully back at Irvine, a sad smile on his face.

"Why? I don't know," Irvine broke the serious silence in the noisy bar, "but I'm sure they do."

"Come with me," Benoit offered. "Nancy always tells me to invite you over after work for a drink or a late dinner, and the kids do love you."

"They love jumping on and off of me," Irvine corrected. "And besides, if you really wanted me over for dinner, you would've asked me when she first started nagging you. That is unless she never told you to invite me in the first place, and you're making it up right now. I don't know which makes me feel shittier," Irvine mused.

"Can't you just take the gesture? And I just never thought that you'd want to come over. It'd either be the kids bugging the hell out of you or Nancy and me _boring_ the hell out of you. You just always seemed like you had somewhere else you'd rather be," Benoit confessed.

Grinning, Irvine apologized. "Sorry, man. Didn't mean to get all…" Unable to find the right word, Irvine began waving his arms around.

"Don't worry about it. But to make up for it, come over," Benoit urged.

Irvine shook his head, declining the offer. "I don't want to take away from the little time that you get to spend with your family."

Benoit rolled his eyes. "After all these years as my partner, you've become part of the family."

"Maybe next time," Irvine negotiated, watching as Benoit stood up from the table.

"You either come this time, or for sure next time. No maybes," Benoit shot back, throwing a tip on the table.

Irvine agreed. "Next time. Just not tonight."

"Alright," Benoit replied, satisfied with the answer. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Irvine answered back.

* * *

"Good morning, Mr. Copeland, Mr. Reso," Benoit greeted.

"Detectives," both returned politely, pulling out chairs across from the two policemen.

"Thank you for coming here this morning. We know it was difficult for you to talk about Mr. Angle with his passing, but we just need to get your statements on the record," Irvine explained, sitting down.

The two co-workers of the victim nodded in understanding.

"Before we get started, may we get you anything? Stale coffee? Stale doughnuts? Most likely stale water?" Benoit offered.

Looking at each other, they shook their heads. "I think we'd rather just get started," Jay responded solemnly.

"Of course," Irvine conceded, flipping the top page of his notepad over and picking up a pen. "So we basically just need written statements from you both. So if you'll just start at the beginning with what you know about Mr. Angle's relationship with Miss McMahon…" Irvine trailed off.

"Alright," Adam nodded as he began to tell his tale again.

* * *

"How about we stop and give the Princess a visit?" Benoit suggested as he watched Adam and Jason leave the station.

Irvine, who hadn't stopped staring at the two signatures under the statement they had written up, nodded.

"Do you want some time alone with the notepad before we head out?" Benoit joked, noticing his partner's infatuation with the scribbles.

Irvine, still staring at the paper and obviously not giving Benoit his full attention, nodded. "I mean, no. I'm fine. I just can't believe that this is all really happening. It's all coming together!"

Benoit laughed. "I know just how you feel. Now let's get going."

"Would you like the honor of knocking?" Benoit offered.

Irvine feigned a gasp of surprise. "Why aren't you just the perfect little gentleman," he remarked in an exaggerated southern accent, pinching Benoit's cheek.

Benoit smacked Irvine's hand away. "Yes or no?" he demanded to know.

"Yes, please," Irvine answered with a roll of his eyes. "Someone's impatient today."

"I'm surprised that you _are_ patient today. I would think you'd be as anxious as I am," Benoit eyed Irvine suspiciously.

Irvine smirked. "I know. But I'm savoring the moment."

"Well hurry up and knock!" Benoit ordered, eyes widening and fists clenching in anticipation.

After one last look at his partner, Irvine raised his hand to the door and rapped three times.

Nothing.

Again, Irvine knocked.

Still nothing.

"Miss McMahon, this is Detective Irvine. We have some questions we'd like to ask and some new information that we'd like to go over with you," Irvine spoke through the door.

And again nothing.

"Miss McMahon, if you continue to refuse to open this door, we will use force!" Benoit threatened, pushing Irvine away from the center of the apartment door.

A small clearing of the throat caught the attention of the two men. "Are you looking for Stephanie?" a blonde woman questioned, standing in the door jam of the apartment behind them.

Irvine straightened considerably when he turned to face the woman. "As a matter of fact we are. Do you know where she is?"

Eying the two mean, she asked, "Can I see your badges?"

Irvine and Benoit expertly flashed their shields to the unnamed woman.

"She's at dinner with her family. Every week the four of them get together at her parents' house," she explained.

"Do you know when she'll be back?" Benoit inquired, unable to hide the disappointment in his face at Stephanie's missing presence.

She shrugged. "Sometimes she comes home by ten. Sometimes she stays the night there."

Irvine and Benoit shared a glance, wicked grins on both their faces. "Thank you very much, Miss…" Irvine trailed off.

"Wilson. Torrie Wilson," she supplied her name.

"Miss Wilson," Irvine breathed her name. "I'm Detective Chris Irvine, and this is my partner Detective Chris Benoit."

"May we ask how you know all this information? I mean, I'm sure you have better things to do with your time than watch Miss McMahon's door through the peephole," Benoit said, knowing Irvine was momentarily distracted by the attractive informant.

"Oh, we're close friends," she replied, finally tearing her gaze away from the blonde detective to answer his partner. "We moved in within a week of each other. So we sort of took to each other."

Benoit nodded. "So how much did Miss McMahon tell you about her love life?"

"Umm…" Torrie tuned her gaze away from either man for a moment, recounting their countless conversations and pondering what it was that they were digging for, and if she should really be the one to tell them all about Stephanie's business. "She's engaged to David Batista."

Trying to keep his tongue check, Benoit said, "We know that already."

"Umm…" she shrugged. "I think it would be better if you discussed this sort of thing with Stephanie herself."

"Clearly we can't because she's not home," Benoit pointed out the obvious.

"Well, may I ask why you're looking for Stephanie? Is she in some sort of trouble?" Torrie asked, concern immediately covering her delicate face.

"Oh, no," Irvine assured the beauty, finding his voice once again – his unusually deep voice. "We just need to discuss a few things that we're not really at liberty to publicize. You understand, pending investigation and such."

Torrie nodded. "Of course. I didn't mean to pry."

"Not a problem," Irvine replied nonchalantly. "Thank you for your time and cooperation. If we need anything else, is there a number at which I can reach you?"

Benoit watched in amazement as she actually gave it to him.

"Again, thank you," Irvine grinned, sliding the small notepad and pen back into his jacket pocket.

"It was my pleasure, Detective," Torrie grinned back shyly, keeping her eyes locked with Irvine as she dropped her head.

"You can expect my call," Irvine flirtatiously warned as he and Benoit turned to leave.

"I look forward to it," she threw back, gently closing the apartment door.

* * *

Benoit gazed in awe.

"Close your mouth," Irvine smirked, not taking his eyes off the road as the two headed to the McMahon Estate.

Benoit shook his head, unable to tear his gaze away from his partner.

"What?" he asked, as though he didn't know the answer to the question, letting out a small laugh.

Benoit continued to shaking his head. "What the hell got into you?"

Though he already know what his brunette counterpart was going to say, he still could not resist the urge to laugh. "Honestly, I don't know. I think I saw her and my hand begged my mouth not to ignore her."

"And since when was your voice that deep? 'You understand, pending investigation and such,'" Benoit imitated the blonde. "What the fuck?"

This time it was Irvine's turn to shake his head. "Like I said man, my mouth's got a mind of its own."

"Nice choice though. Much better than that receptionist at Titan Towers," Benoit chuckled at the memory of Irvine's flirtation with the overly nervous woman. "So are you going to ask her out? It could be dangerous if you do. Witness tampering and all that jazz."

Irvine snorted. "Yeah, because the fact that the McMahons have dinner together once a week like a normal family is top secret information that we could have only gotten from her."

Benoit smiled, but it soon faded. "I'm serious though. I don't think it's a good idea to get involved with her. She's friends with Stephanie McMahon, and I got the feeling that she knows that she has information that could get The Princess in trouble. I mean, you're not friends with anyone in that family without knowing what they're accused of being involved with."

"Does she look like the kind of girl to be involved in the mafia business? And besides," Irvine continued his reasoning, "why would Stephanie McMahon tell her little friend about her family's illegal business endeavors? Like that's a good way to make friends. 'Hi. My father is a mob boss who kills people and runs an illegitimate business.' I don't think so," he scoffed.

Benoit still was not convinced. "But at the same time, you don't let people get that close to you when you're in that position unless you trust them."

"So what do you want me to do? Arrest her?" Irvine asked, sarcasm thick in his voice.

Benoit took a moment to consider the idea. "Maybe we can get her to crack in interrogation."

Irvine could not help but laugh as he watched the over-worked wheels turning in Benoit's head. "We've been working this case too long when you think that arresting Stephanie McMahon's neighbor will hand us the McMahons' conviction."

Benoit shrugged. "It was your idea," he muttered.

"Once we close this case, we should go on vacation. You can take the wifey and kids, and I'll invite Torrie or some other bikini body, and we can just lie in the sun on some tropical island and get skin cancer," Irvine visualized.

"Sounds pleasant," Benoit quipped dryly. "I'm not a fan of age spots, so maybe I'll bring an umbrella."

"Whatever you want," Irvine grinned. After a moment he added, a note of certainty and confidence in his voice, "We will put them away."

"No doubt about it," Benoit replied, the same tone in his voice.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** _Thicker Than Water_

**Rating:** T (for language and content)

**Summary:** Stephanie McMahon is the daughter of a mob boss and Detectives Irvine and Benoit are determined on nailing her father. So what happens when she runs into their station, battered and bruised? Will she close the case for them, or will they have to give up on convicting the McMahon family?

**Disclaimer:** I own no one and make nothing.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

"_How about we stop and give the Princess a visit?" Benoit suggested as he watched Adam and Jason leave the station._

_Irvine, who hadn't stopped staring at the two signatures under the statement they had written up, nodded._

"_Do you want some time alone with the notepad before we head out?" Benoit joked, noticing his partner's infatuation with the scribbles._

_Irvine, still staring at the paper and obviously not giving Benoit his full attention, nodded. "I mean, no. I'm fine. I just can't believe that this is all really happening. It's all coming together!"_

_Benoit laughed. "I know just how you feel. Now let's get going."_

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Benoit gazed in awe.

"Close your mouth," Irvine smirked, not taking his eyes off the road as the two headed to the McMahon Estate.

Benoit shook his head, unable to tear his gaze away from his partner.

"What?" he asked, as though he didn't know the answer to the question, letting out a small laugh.

Benoit continued to shaking his head. "What the hell got into you?"

Though he already knew what his brunette counterpart was going to say, he still could not resist the urge to laugh. "Honestly, I don't know. I think I saw her and my hand begged my mouth not to ignore her."

"And since when was your voice that deep? 'You understand, pending investigation and such,'" Benoit imitated the blonde. "What the fuck?"

This time it was Irvine's turn to shake his head. "Like I said man, my mouth's got a mind of its own."

"Nice choice though. Much better than that receptionist at Titan Towers," Benoit chuckled at the memory of Irvine's flirtation with the overly nervous woman. "So are you going to ask her out? It could be dangerous if you do. Witness tampering and all that jazz."

Irvine snorted. "Yeah, because the fact that the McMahons have dinner together once a week like a normal family is top secret information that we could have only gotten from her."

Benoit smiled, but it soon faded. "I'm serious though. I don't think it's a good idea to get involved with her. She's friends with Stephanie McMahon, and I got the feeling that she knows that she has information that could get The Princess in trouble. I mean, you're not friends with anyone in that family without knowing what they're accused of being involved with."

"Does she look like the kind of girl to be involved in the mafia business? And besides," Irvine continued his reasoning, "why would Stephanie McMahon tell her little friend about her family's illegal business endeavors? Like that's a good way to make friends. 'Hi. My father is a mob boss who kills people and runs an illegitimate business.' I don't think so," he scoffed.

Benoit still was not convinced. "But at the same time, you don't let people get that close to you when you're in that position unless you trust them."

"So what do you want me to do? Arrest her?" Irvine asked, sarcasm thick in his voice.

Benoit took a moment to consider the idea. "Maybe we can get her to crack in interrogation."

Irvine could not help but laugh as he watched the over-worked wheels turning in Benoit's head. "We've been working this case too long when you think that arresting Stephanie McMahon's neighbor will hand us the McMahons' conviction."

Benoit shrugged. "It was your idea," he muttered.

"Once we close this case, we should go on vacation. You can take the wifey and kids, and I'll invite Torrie or some other bikini body, and we can just lie in the sun on some tropical island and get skin cancer," Irvine visualized.

"Sounds pleasant," Benoit quipped dryly. "I'm not a fan of age spots, so maybe I'll bring an umbrella."

"Whatever you want," Irvine grinned. After a moment he added, a note of certainty and confidence in his voice, "We will put them away."

"No doubt about it," Benoit replied, the same tone in his voice.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Stephanie McMahon opted to stab at her food rather than actually eat it. Of course being a McMahon, her initial emotion, regardless of the situation, was anger. And right now, her baked salmon very much resembled one Kurt Angle. Having been treated as a princess growing up, she expected nothing less from her lover, who had done nothing but adore her for the last fourteen months. So Stephanie could not even begin to fathom why Kurt had stood her up the previous night.

"Stephanie, Honey," Linda McMahon interrupted her daughter's thoughts, "are you alright? You look upset."

Looking down at her mutilated fish, Stephanie set her fork down and smiled politely at her mother. "I'm fine. Just a little worked up. I had a bad day," she lied.

"Oh?" Vince McMahon interjected. "Who did what to you?" he questioned, ignoring the ringing of the doorbell and narrowing his eyes at the thought of some low-class hoodlum harassing his only daughter.

Stephanie shook her head in an attempt to calm her father, whose temper she had inherited. "I didn't sleep well last night and it set off my whole day," she didn't completely lie. She was so upset with Kurt that she didn't calm down enough to fall asleep until three that morning. "I guess I'm just cranky."

Watching his daughter with skepticism, Vince nodded, accepting her excuse and not wanting to question it in case it led to… other matters. Taking a sip of his wine, Vince looked up as the butler entered the dining room. "Yes, Michael?"

Michael Cole, bowed his head before answering his boss. "There are two detectives here who would like to speak with Miss McMahon."

All eyes immediately fell upon the youngest McMahon, whose eyes were darting from each of her family members. "Why?" she asked Michael.

"They wouldn't say. Something about a 'pending investigation' and it being 'classified information on a need-to-know basis,'" he quoted the two unexpected and unwanted guests.

Before Stephanie could speak up, Vince replied, "You can tell the detectives that we are in the middle of dinner. But if they feel it's that important to talk my daughter tonight, then they may wait in the sitting room until we've finished our meal."

"Yes, sir." Michael nodded before exiting the room.

Shane and Linda's gazes had not left the heiress since Michael's announcement of their guests. "Why do the police want to speak with you?" Linda demanded to know.

Stephanie resisted the urge to look at her father and focused on her mother. "You remember how I was mugged a week and a half ago? They're probably just trying to get more information."

"Well honestly," Linda remarked, with a sigh, "they already made you go down to their station. You would think that they would at least do their job proficiently after making you go all the way downtown and give them a statement."

Stephanie forced a smile. "You know public law enforcement, Mother."

Linda let out a terse laugh of agreement. "Of course. Always snooping around us like we're some common criminals. Disgusting. Just because your father runs a successful business and earns more in a year than they'll make in their lifetimes is no reason to treat us as though we've done something wrong."

Sadness filled Stephanie's eyes at her mother's obliviousness to it all. But she supposed that said something about her father's character. He wanted to protect Linda from it all, and had tried to do the same with Stephanie. Unfortunately for him, his daughter wasn't as accepting as Linda and soon became completely aware of the goings on in their other family business. Soon, she was as nearly involved with her father's illegal affairs as Shane was.

Michael cleared his throat again as he re-entered the dining room.

"Yes, Michael?" Vince asked again, throwing his linen napkin onto the table, annoyed by the interruption.

Bowing his head, Michael replied, "My apologies, Sir, but the detectives insist on seeing Miss McMahon now. I tried explaining to them that you were in the middle of dinner and that you did not appreciate their unexpected arrivals."

Vince sighed. "Send them in here."

Michael hurriedly scuttled out of the room.

The room had stilled since Michael's second appearance with the other three members of the family setting down their utensils.

"Detectives Irvine and Benoit," Michael announced, ushering in the two men.

"Thank you, Michael," Vince said dismissively, eyeing the two newcomers. "Gentlemen, you have interrupted my valuable time with my family. You two better have a damn good reason," he warned.

"We need to speak to Miss McMahon is all," Benoit explained, forcing himself to bite his tongue.

Vince opened his mouth to speak, but Stephanie responded before her father had the chance, "I've filed the report, what more do you need?"

The two detectives looked at each other before Irvine answered. "This actually does not pertain to your mugging. This actually has to do with another investigation."

Stephanie looked taken aback. "Another investigation?" she repeated. "What other investigation?"

"We'd prefer if we could speak to you in private," Irvine replied, not giving her an answer.

"Whatever you have to say to my daughter, you may say in front of the rest of my family," Vince said, a grim look on his face.

Exchanging another look, the two humble civil servants shrugged. "Well," Irvine began, "two days ago, a Mr. Kurt Angle was found dead." He and Benoit watched intently for Stephanie's reaction, but much to their disappointment, they got nothing! Stephanie's face remained blank. She did not reveal even a flicker of emotion.

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?" Stephanie asked, confusion on her face.

Benoit shrugged. "Does it?" he prodded.

"No," she responded snappily, shaking her head. "Look, I'm sorry he's dead, but I don't even know him."

Irvine eyed her for a moment before responding. "Are you sure that's the story you want to stick with?"

"She's already answered your question. Now would you please leave us to finish our dinner?" Vince demanded harshly, standing up to emphasize his impatience and displeasure with the situation.

Benoit glared back at Vince, but his voice remained calm and respectful. "I apologize for interrupting your dinner, but unless you want your daughter to be arrested for obstruction of justice, I suggest that you allow us some privacy to speak with her."

Stephanie watched as her father's nostrils flared in anger. "Fine! We'll talk," she conceded, standing up. "Just sit down, Daddy," she requested of her father. "We'll be right in the other room," she assured him, watching as he slowly sank back down into his seat. With a roll of her eyes, she turned her attention to the detectives. "Follow me." She walked through the double doors and out of the dining room into the hall. When they reached the sitting room, she took a seat and motioned for them to take the couch in front of her. "So what do you want?"

"Do you know Kurt Angle?" Irvine asked without hesitation.

"No," she lied, staring straight into the blonde's eyes.

Benoit's eyebrows raised in surprise. "Really? Because I have a signed statement from two friends of the recently deceased Mr. Angle claiming that you and Mr. Angle were romantically involved for over a year," he revealed.

Stephanie had no qualms about showing her doubt as an incredulous look on her face. Well then they must be lying because I don't even know a Kurt Angle," she continued to deny.

Irvine sighed. "We were hoping it wouldn't come to this, but Miss McMahon, would you please stand up?" he requested as he and his partner walked over to either side of Stephanie.

"Why? What are you doing?" she panicked as they each reached and grabbed an arm, tugging her onto her feet.

"Stephanie McMahon, you are under arrest for the obstruction of justice. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in the court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one, the court will appoint one to you. Do you understand your rights?" Irvine mirandized her as Benoit struggled to handcuff the squirming heiress.

"No! You can't arrest me! I haven't done anything wrong!" Stephanie shouted.

"Actually you have," Benoit corrected her. "You see, your lying to us right now about your relationship with Mr. Angle, therefore preventing the further investigation of his homicide."

"What the hell do you think you're dong!" Vince bellowed as he stormed into the room after springing into action after hearing Stephanie's cry. "Why are you handcuffing my daughter?" Vince rushed toward Stephanie in an attempt to get Benoit and his handcuffs away from Stephanie's aristocratic wrists.

"Your daughter is under arrest for obstruction of justice," Irvine explained, stepping between Stephanie and her father.

"There is no way in hell that you are arresting her!" Vince asserted, shoving Irvine out of the way.

Irvine struggled with himself to remain calm. "Mr. McMahon, please do not force me to arrest you for assault of an office." 'Because we want to pin you with so much more,' Irvine added silently.

Vince stared down at the young detective, attempting to intimidate the blonde. "I don't think that District Attorney Shawn Michaels would appreciate your wasting of his time with such bogus arrests," Vince whispered venomously. "I could call him now at home and find out what he thinks if you don't believe me."

Benoit put away the handcuffs. "If you can just have your daughter answer honestly, then we will be happy to let you return to your dinner with your family."

Vince turned and walked back out of the room, leaving the three alone again, but this time, no one sat down.

"Were you or were you not involved romantically with Mr. Angle?" Benoit questioned.

Stephanie's eyes narrowed as she answered. "Yes," she spat out.

OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo

Author's Note: Sorry about the "OoOoOo" thing. The divider line isn't working and nothing shows up after I save changes if I make some other sort of divider. If anyone knows how to fix it, please let me know! Thanks!

And thank you for all the reviews so far! Please keep it up!


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** _Thicker Than Water_

**Rating:** T (for language and content)

**Summary:** Stephanie McMahon is the daughter of a mob boss and Detectives Irvine and Benoit are determined on nailing her father. So what happens when she runs into their station, battered and bruised? Will she close the case for them, or will they have to give up on convicting the McMahon family?

**Disclaimer:** I own no one and make nothing.

* * *

_Vince stared down at the young detective, attempting to intimidate the blonde. "I don't think that District Attorney Shawn Michaels would appreciate your wasting of his time with such bogus arrests," Vince whispered venomously. "I could call him now at home and find out what he thinks if you don't believe me."_

_Benoit put away the handcuffs. "If you can just have your daughter answer honestly, then we will be happy to let you return to your dinner with your family."_

_Vince turned and walked back out of the room, leaving the three alone again, but this time, no one sat down._

"_Were you or were you not involved romantically with Mr. Angle?" Benoit questioned._

_Stephanie's eyes narrowed as she answered. "Yes," she spat out.

* * *

_

"Now we're getting somewhere," Irvine muttered, pulling out his omni-present notepad and scribbling down notes. "So where were you in the evening three nights ago?"

"I was at dinner with a friend," Stephanie mumbled, flopping back down into the armchair.

"Name?" Irvine requested.

"Torrie Wilson. She lives across the hall in my apartment building," Stephanie explained.

Irvine nodded, smiling at the thought of the blonde bombshell. "We've met. She told us you were here for dinner with your parents."

"Did she?" Stephanie replied tightly.

"So you won't mind if I confirm with Miss Wilson about your alibi?" Irvine questioned.

Stephanie sneered. "Who told you?"

"We'll ask the questions, Miss McMahon," Benoit quipped back.

Stephanie's eyes widened at the refusal. "You barged into my parents' home, disrupted our meal, and disrespected me and my family. And yet you can't even answer the one question I have of you?"

Benoit smirked. "What does it matter? What would you do if we told you? Order a hit?" he mocked her.

Stephanie's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Get out. You know that I had nothing to do with Kurt's death, so now you can leave."

Irvine and Benoit gave each other a look. "I suppose we can continue this tomorrow at your apartment, or at our station if you prefer," Irvine acquiesced.

"Get out," Stephanie spat at them again. "And rest assured that your captain and D.A. Michaels will hear about this!"

"Thank you for your time, Miss McMahon," Benoit quipped as he and Irvine eased their way out of the room.

* * *

"I can't believe that we just did that," Benoit whispered once the two were securely inside the locked car.

"They're going to try to kill us now, you know that, right?" Irvine questioned, looking over to Benoit.

The other man nodded.

"We're dead."

Benoit nodded again.

"Next time you go to open your mailbox, or answer the phone, or go to a public bathroom, or turn on your car…" Irvine glanced at the key sitting in the ignition, "when you least expect it, the way you least expect it, that's when they'll get you."

Another nod.

"Well I'm hungry. You want to get some dinner?" Irvine questioned.

Benoit released the breath he was unconsciously holding. "Sure. Man, whatever they were eating smelled _good_!"

Irvine snorted as Benoit nearly drooled. "Yeah. Sorry to break it to you, but we will never eat like them."

* * *

Stephanie gazed around the room dumbly, not recognizing anything, nor realizing her problem. Her mind was blank. She couldn't form words; she couldn't utter a sound; she couldn't put together a single thought. She couldn't remember a thing that had happened in the last ten minutes since the blonde detective had nonchalantly informed her of Kurt's murder. The room began spinning and she swayed, but she still didn't notice. Her breathing grew shallower, but she still didn't notice. Her chest tightened and her heart raced, but she still didn't notice.

Nothing registered.

Nothing mattered.

She collapsed.

* * *

A mere seven minutes after both men had arrived at the precinct the next morning, they were sternly called into Captain Ross' office.

"You two are crazier than a couple o' 'coons trying to run across a busy highway in the middle of the day where everyone can see what you're doing and find out and come and blame it on me!" Captain Ross said sternly, quickly losing his analogy.

"So, I take it you heard about our little dinner meeting with the McMahons last night?" Irvine innocently but boldly asked.

Captain Ross began pacing behind his desk. "You two… you two…" he stammered, not really knowing where he was going with that beginning. "Do you know what you two have done?!"

"We went after someone who has information," Benoit answered.

Shaking his head, Captain Ross chuckled. "No!" he bellowed, that grin from mere milliseconds ago disappearing. "You just put yourselves and your pensions on the line! The McMahons went straight to the D.A. _and_ the Governor! Neither of whom took the news very well that you barged into the McMahon Estate and interrupted their family dinner only to _handcuff_ Stephanie McMahon!"

"We know it was a little extreme, but they weren't taking us seriously. We had to prove that we meant business," Irvine explained.

"Besides, we got direct confirmation from Stephanie McMahon herself that she was Kurt Angle's lover," Benoit added smugly.

"First off, I see no connection between whom he was dating and his murder! Second, if there is, it's safe to say that any judge would throw it out because you used coercion to get that information!" Captain Ross shouted.

"It wasn't a confession to a crime!" Irvine shot back, raising his voice. "She was just admitting she had an affair! It didn't give us any evidence, just more suspicion that her family had something to do with it!"

"Detective Irvine, if you wish to continue to work in the department, that is of course assuming that the Board decides not to fire you, then you should lower your voice," Captain Ross hissed.

Benoit chose this time to intervene. "Captain, you know how long we've been eying the McMahons. We know that they did this! If we can just link them to one crime, we have no doubt that someone involved will cut a deal with us and turn them in everything," Benoit desperately urged, stepping between his partner and his superior. "We need this case."

Captain Ross sighed and shook his head. "You two are walking a fine line. Don't pull any of this kind of crap again or I will fire you myself. All of us in this room have no doubt about the culpability of that family, but until we get hard evidence, you cannot just go barging into their houses making unsupported accusations like a couple of loose canons. You both have worked far too long and far too hard to throw away your entire careers on this one case." Captain Ross sat back down in his chair. "Are they really worth it to you?" he asked, looking up at his two best detectives.

Irvine and Benoit looked at each other before both confidently answered, "Yes." How could their captain, their mentor even consider letting the McMahons off?

"Why? Hundreds of crimes go unsolved everyday. What makes this one so different?" Captain Ross asked.

"It's not different," Irvine responded simply.

"All crimes are the same. They should be solved and the people who committed them should be punished, regardless of who they are, what they do, how much money they make, and who they know," Benoit added.

"Because if we pick and choose which ones are more important, then where do we draw the line? Or I suppose it's more, if we choose who's less important and we can afford to imprison them, where do we draw the line?" Irvine answered, looking at his Captain with a mixture of disdain and surprise.

Captain Ross let out a short, humorless laugh. "I forget how young you two are. You still think that you can go out there do your job and at the end of the day, you make the world a safer place. Well, you're not making it safer. You're just slowing the growth of corruption and crime."

"Then why do you do your job, Captain?" Benoit asked.

A cynical smile slowly crept onto Captain Ross' face. "Because I wish that I could still feel like I could save the world by doing this."

* * *

It was then that Benoit and Irvine both realized that Captain Ross wasn't trying to persuade them to give up on the McMahons, but that he had simply forgotten that feeling of invincibility and integrity after years of seeing the justice system continuously fail to convict those who truly posed the greatest threat to society. He had lost his faith and hope in people.

"Just watch where you're going and whose toes you step on this time," Captain Ross warned. "I'll talk to the Board about last night."

"Do you think that we'll ever get like that?" Benoit asked, spinning in circles while sitting in his chair.

"Like what?" Irvine retorted, not bothering to look up from his doodle.

He stopped spinning. "So hopeless?"

That caught Irvine's attention. "He's not hopeless," Irvine finally replied. "He's just… cynical. I think that he still has some hope in there somewhere."

Benoit nodded before he started to spin again. "So do you?"

"Think that we'll end up like the Captain?" Irvine asked, returning his attention back to his drawing.

"Yeah," Benoit answered, tipping his head back as he continued twirling.

After a few seconds of contemplating his answer, Irvine put down his pen down and leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head. "Not if we don't let it happen."

"He couldn't have _chosen_ to get this way," Benoit reasoned.

Irvine shrugged. "I start getting that way, bitch slap me."

Benoit nodded. "Okay. And if I start to get that way, use your words."

With a snort, Irvine muttered, "Pussy."

* * *

Stephanie sat in her shower, still wearing her clothes from the previous night. She had woken up in her old bedroom at three-thirty that morning and snuck out of the house. She really didn't want to have to deal with her parents, especially her father. After getting home, she climbed into her own bed and cried. When she woke up that afternoon, she somehow made her way into the bathroom, at which point she turned on the water and sat down. She turned the knob from her position on the floor to raise the temperature of the water; she still shivered.

Kurt was gone.

Kurt was gone.

Kurt was gone.

That was the only thought running through her head. Kurt was gone. She would never see him again. She would never touch him again. She would never kiss him again. She would never lie in bed with him again. She would never make love to him again.

Never again.

She had to do something. The love of her life was _murdered_ and she couldn't just pretend that she didn't have her suspicious about who was behind everything.

But first, she had to speak to her father.

* * *

Part of Vince was proud that Stephanie was perceptive enough to have figured out what he did while a part of him felt as though he had failed as a father by allowing his only daughter to become so intertwined in something so unsuitable for his precious baby. Vince saw that Stephanie had inherited more of his own personal characteristics than Shane, but that didn't make it any easier for him to accept her into his world. As her father, he felt it was his duty to keep her away from the corruption of the world, which, as she grew up, made him seem cold and distant to her. In the end, his determination to protect her only fueled Stephanie's desire to please her father, driving her to pester him to let her help – to let her in.

And of course he gave in.

How could he ever deny his baby girl anything?

* * *

Stephanie barged into her father's office, absolutely livid. After another few hours of sitting in her shower, Stephanie had managed to actually clean herself then forced herself to get dressed. All that time under the water gave her time to think and she came to the conclusion that she had to confront her father. She was completely confident Vince at least knew something about who had killed Kurt. She didn't even question how her father knew about her affair, but the fact that Kurt was dead meant that someone knew, and someone had talked, no doubt to Vince. And of course being him, all he could think about was his business and what Kurt would do for Stephanie's engagement to Dave, and what the dissolution of that relationship would do for his business agreement.

All her life Stephanie strived to please her father. She constantly lied to her mother and her friend about her father, his business and her involvement in his work. And after thirty years of doing everything she could to help, he couldn't let her have this one thing.

He just had to take Kurt away from her…

"How could you?" was the first thing that rushed out of her mouth.

Luckily Vince was alone in the office. His eyes darted up from the paperwork on his desk, surprise on his face. "Stephanie," he sighed in relief. "Your mother and I have been trying to call you all morning! We had you stay with us last night so that we could keep an eye on you," he scolded lightly.

She was shaking. "How could you?" Stephanie could tell by the look on Vince's face that he knew exactly was she was talking about.

With a sigh, Vince stood and walked to the other side of his desk. Leaning on the edge, he kicked the expensive chair out and with a nod told her to sit.

Stephanie sat.

"We need to talk," Vince finally said.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** _Thicker Than Water_

**Rating:** T (for language and content)

**Summary:** Stephanie McMahon is the daughter of a mob boss and Detectives Irvine and Benoit are determined on nailing her father. So what happens when she runs into their station, battered and bruised? Will she close the case for them, or will they have to give up on convicting the McMahon family?

**Disclaimer:** I wish. That way Chris would come back to wrestling and rekindle his infamous rivalry with Stephanie… loved it!

_

* * *

_

She was shaking. "How could you?" Stephanie could tell by the look on Vince's face that he knew exactly was she was talking about.

_With a sigh, Vince stood and walked to the other side of his desk. Leaning on the edge, he kicked the expensive chair out and with a nod told her to sit._

_Stephanie sat._

"_We need to talk," Vince finally said._

* * *

"How long has she been here?" Irvine questioned, peeling off his soaked jacket and throwing it onto the back of his chair.

"About fifteen minutes. She refuses to speak to anyone but you two," the officer explained, looking into the interrogation room where Stephanie sat, a blank expression upon her face. "She hasn't moved since she told us that she would only talk to at least one of you."

Irvine and Benoit looked at each other, confusion on their faces. After avoiding them, Stephanie and her sudden appearance left them baffled. "You think it's a trick?" Benoit finally broke the silence between himself and his partner as they stared at the obviously distraught heiress.

Irvine shook his head without even looking at his partner. "Don't know. And we won't find out what she's up to if we don't go in there." The two detectives glanced at each other one more time, both obviously attempting to hide their excitement, before heading toward the door.

"Miss McMahon," Benoit greeted politely as he opened the door. "So to what do we owe this pleasantly unexpected surprise?"

Stephanie could only look at them for the briefest of moments before averting her eyes to any other point of the room. The two men noticed she was nervously shaking her leg. After avoiding their gaze, she couldn't help but look back at them. "I shouldn't be here," she announced abruptly, standing up and gathering her purse.

Irvine and Benoit barely looked at each other before Benoit covered the door and Irvine rushed over to Stephanie's side. "Miss McMahon, whatever it is, we can assure that we'll do our best to help you," Irvine told her, attempting to coax her back into her seat.

"No," Stephanie replied adamantly. "No, you don't understand. I _can't_ be here. This isn't right."

Benoit took a step closer to the anxious woman. "Why 'can't' you be here?" he asked cautiously.

Stephanie closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It's complicated. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go." She tried once again to push past the blonde detective, but Irvine stood firmly in front of her, mirroring her movements to prevent her fleeing the station again.

"Well you're already here, so you might as well and sit down and tell us what's bothering you," Irvine attempted to persuade the heiress.

"Please," Stephanie pleaded, obviously growing more and more flustered, "just please let me go!" Putting all her resolve into one push, she tried to shove her way past the detective again, pressing her shoulder against his chest in a futile attempt to rush past him. Instead, Irvine merely caught her in a hold, wrapping his arms around her protectively.

"We want to help you," he murmured into her hair.

"Well you can't!" she shouted, continuing to struggle for her freedom. "Just let me go, and we'll pretend none of this ever happened!"

Benoit was now standing across the table from his partner. "What are you so scared of?"

At this, Stephanie stopped wiggling. "What?"

"You want to leave because you're scared," Benoit repeated.

Stephanie shook her head, "I'm not scared of anything," she replied less than convincingly.

Pulling back from the brunette in his arms, but not letting go of her, Irvine asked, "Then why do you want to run?" When Irvine looked into Stephanie's eyes, he saw a flash of vulnerability. She wanted to tell them what was going on. She desperately _needed_ to tell them what was going on. But as quickly as he saw it, that spark was gone.

"Please let go of me," she responded calmly to the question, her eyes hard as steel, and the emotions behind them just as impenetrable.

Hearing the eerie serenity in her voice, Irvine loosened his grip on the woman and turned her to face him. With a firm grip on her shoulders, Irvine looked her in the eyes and told her, "You can trust us."

Tears began filling her dull eyes. Shaking her head, Stephanie looked away to the ground and fell back into the chair. After a long pause she responded in a whisper, "I can't trust anyone. Everyone has an ulterior motive," she looked up into Irvine's eyes, "even two upstanding law enforcement officers like yourselves."

Both detectives' eyebrows shot up. "And what would our secret motive be?" Benoit boarder-line taunted her.

"Please don't insult my intelligence by pretending that I could be wrong about what you want to do to my father. This department has done nothing but harass my family and discredit its reputation since I was a child. You don't want to help me. You want to take advantage of I know," Stephanie accused the two men.

Benoit looked down at the ground. It was true. He could pretend that he wanted to save her from whatever she was running away from, but what he really wanted was for her to divulge some secret they could use against her father. It wasn't a secret.

Letting his hands fall to his sides, Irvine slowly nodded. "I'm not going to lie to you. We want to send your father to prison for the crimes he's committed, and don't even try to argue with what he has or hasn't done," he stopped her protests to his statement. "The fact of the matter is that as far as we know, your case and his are completely unrelated. While you are here with us, it is about you – not him."

Stephanie couldn't tell how sincere the blonde's confession was right away, but after a moment of inspecting his face, something in the way he was focusing on her told her he was telling the truth. But she couldn't tell them. She couldn't turn on her own father. "Please understand that I just can't," she responded, her voice full of remorse.

"It was him," Benoit said slowly. "He was responsible for this. You don't' want to say anything because it'll just connect him to it."

Looking from his partner back to the flustered woman in front of him, Irvine inspected Stephanie for her reaction.

"That's ridiculous," she replied. "He would never be capable of hurting me," she defended her father.

"Just because he didn't inflict any of the physical abuse doesn't mean he's not responsible for it," Benoit countered.

"You're reaching," Stephanie commented.

"Are you _that_ blinded by your love for your father?" Irvine demanded to know, somehow fighting the urge to yell, obviously lacking the understanding of why Stephanie continued to defend her pathetic excuse for a man of a father. Unless she genuinely didn't know about most the crimes her father was behind, there was no way any decent person would pass up the chance to put a man like Vince McMahon behind bars. "Do you know how Kurt died?" he asked suddenly, causing Stephanie's head to jerk up and switch her gaze from his partner to himself.

"Excuse me?" Stephanie asked, taken aback by his inquiry.

"Do you know how Kurt Angle died?" Irvine repeated slowly, enunciating every word.

A look of disgust smeared the heiress' aristocratic features. "Do you always speak so brazenly to those in mourning during your investigations?"

"No. But you're special," he retorted, leaning against the edge of the table, crossing his arms and gazing at the brunette to his right, the coolness never leaving his voice.

Stephanie shook her head in disbelief. "No, I don't know how he died, and I have no interest in finding out either," she spat, turning away from him and crossing her arms indignantly.

Benoit instantly shot his partner a concerned look and cleared his throat in warning. There was no way the blonde was going to disclose the details of how this woman's lover died.

"He died of internal bleeding from being beaten as he hung form the ceiling."

Obviously the shorter detective was wrong.

Stephanie's hardened features broke and her eyes widened, but she still refused to look at either man.

"That night, he was on his way to see you. But your father's men stopped him. They knocked him out, took him to an abandoned warehouse and alternated raping and beating him until he died. Then they left him there, probably thinking no one would find the body for a good week," Irvine quietly narrated, trying to break through Stephanie's walls. If she couldn't see what Vince was for herself, then he would just have to show her.

"Stop," she commanded weakly, her voice cracking on the single word. Looking up to face the blonde, Stephanie shook her head. "I don't need to hear this."

Seeing the tears in her eyes, Irvine instantly regretted his little monologue.

"And you have no proof that my father has anything to do with Kurt's murder," Stephanie said, turning her gaze down to her hands in her lap.

"No, we don't," Benoit admitted, leaning onto the table. Yet when Stephanie looked up at the less outspoken detective she didn't see the hard, accusing glare she expected, but a look of… desperation? "But you know he did it don't you? You see the same circumstances we do. And you know that if we found out about your little affair with Mr. Angle, your father could just as easily have found out about it. And if your father could find out, so could Mr. Batista."

"And that wouldn't sit well with your fiancé or his father," Irvine concluded. "It's not like we can't see what's going on. You want to merge your families to create the most dominated family in mafia history. Unfortunately for Mr. Angle, he just didn't fit into the picture. Mr. Batista didn't want to share, and your father didn't want to see all of his hard work go to waste."

Benoit pushed himself off the table. "How are you letting him do this to you? First he forces you into marriage, and then he takes away the true love of your life. How can you sit there and just let him?"

"I'm going now," Stephanie announced standing up.

Again, Irvine took hold of her arm, stopping her from practically running out of the room. He simply pulled out a business card from his pocket, held it up for Stephanie to inspect, then slid it into her Louis Vuitton bag. With that, he released her and watched as she rushed out the door.

"I give her a week," Benoit predicted.

"Four days," Irvine countered.

* * *

Five days later, Chris Irvine's cell phone drew him from sleep. "Irvine," he answered groggily looking at his bedside clock. It read four thirty-eight.

Silence answered him.

"Hello?"

Silence still.

"Miss McMahon?" Irvine questioned gently, propping himself up on an elbow.

Suddenly he could hear the sob she had been holding in. "I don't feel safe," she whispered, her words barely understandable through her tears.

Irvine sat straight up once he had confirmation it was the McMahon daughter. "Where are you?"

"I'm at my apartment," she answered.

Irvine nodded, climbing out of his bed and looking for clothes. "I can pick you up and take you to the station," he offered.

"NO!" she quickly shouted in response. "No station. They can't know that you're involved now."

"Alright. I just need you to calm down. How about you just stay put, and I'll come get you, and we'll figure out where to go from there?" he suggested gently, her voice concerning him.

"No," she shot down again. "I've been followed since I left your station. There were at least three different men following me, but now I think it's down to one. I didn't want to call when so many people were watching me."

Vince McMahon wouldn't have a hit out on his own daughter would he? "Okay. Tell me about your schedule tomorrow."

"What?" she replied, confused.

"Just tell me what you would normally do on any other weekday," he requested.

"Okay," she conceded, still not understanding. "I wake up. I go to the gym. I go to the office. I might have a business lunch at a café. A couple days I work late. But then I come home, and usually go to dinner with Dave, or my parents, or my brother, or business associates. Then I come home and just unwind for the night. Occasionally I'll have a public appearance to make. Why?"

"Do you drive yourself to work?"

"Yes."

"Does your office building have any back entrances?"

"Umm… I believe several."

"Do you have a business lunch tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"What time will you for sure be back at your office?"

"Three at the latest."

"Alright, what I want you to do before you leave for work in a few hours is write down all your PIN numbers for you debit cards and sign the paper. Then when you leave, wear the biggest sunglasses you have. At three, I want you to go to the bathroom, leaving _everything_ you took with you to the office there on your desk. Then I want you to go to the closest back entrance to your office. I'll have a black 2000 Honda Civic waiting for you with a non-uniformed office driving. He'll have the windows down and will be wearing a Boston Red Sox cap. Get in the car, and he'll bring you to me," Irvine instructed quickly. "You got that."

"Yeah," Stephanie answered tightly.

"I'll see you tomorrow evening, then," he responded before hanging up.

This was it.

He had to call Benoit.

**

* * *

**

Author's Note: Thanks so much for the positive reviews (even though there really weren't that many for the last chapter… HINT HINT:D). I just need to apologize for the long break – school, writer's block, work. But don't worry, I want to keep working on this story. I've grown really attached to it, and intend on making it the first real story that I've finished! Haha! We'll see how that turns out, but as long as you all keep reviewing, I'll keep writing. You're just going to have to be patient with me! Sorry! But love to you all!


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